The Mattress
by Essayel
Summary: Another day dawns in the Fan Fiction Factory. Dormitories, sharing the bathroom, queueing for breakfast..what kind of life is this for a grown man? And then there are the fics!! As Sirius Black prepares for another hard day pouding various fan fiction mat
1. Default Chapter

**The Mattress**

"Remus?" Sirius called.

"What!" The word was partially muffled by the sound of running water and, probably, soap suds.

Sirius glanced in the mirror at the agitated twitching of the shower curtain and grimaced. It was going to be a very busy day and Remus had overslept. For a moment he considered saying 'no, never mind, I'm just being daft' but dismissed the thought. Something had occurred to him and it was preying on his mind.

"Do you ever think…." he began.

"Almost continuously, try it sometime," Severus stepped through the open bathroom door, hair neatly combed and almost dry and took a stance in front of the lavatory. There was the sound of a zip.

Sirius sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No, seriously! Do you ever think that – well – that we might not be real?"

There was a moment of stunned silence broken by a curse from Severus and the rattle of the shower curtain.

"You're cleaning that up!" Remus said severely to Severus, who was, indeed, already reaching for the tissue. "What do you mean, Sirius? Of course we're real!"

Sirius took the time to shave the tricky bit on his top lip before replying and he could see Remus, towelling busily, watching him in the mirror.

"It's the whole set up here," he continued eventually. "Don't you ever wonder what it's all about?"

"Life's too short," Severus said, straightening up from mopping his boots, "to move at the snail's pace of your thought processes. Precis the argument for me, Remus, and I'll consider it later." He flushed and left, picking up his bag of costumes and props as he stepped through the door and strode off along the hall.

"Precis the argument for me, Remus…" Sirius repeated in a squeaky voice and snorted.

"Cut him some slack," Remus advised. "He's under a lot of pressure."

"Yes," Sirius seized upon that. "That's my point. Remember how it used to be? Back in the old days. He was the beaky, greasy, sarky bastard with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Rock of Gibraltar so how the hell did he come to be the Slytherin sex-machine?"

"Eh?" Remus, half dressed, popped his head out through the neck of his jumper like a rabbit from its burrow.

"And you," Sirius continued, "were the excellent teacher, kind friend and all-together nice guy with the added frisson of the possibility that you might snack on a pupil, while I had a simple time of it – I was psychotic but generally considered to be on the side of the angels. So – given that – how did we wind up like this?" He washed out his razor, set it aside and patted his face dry. No aftershave – not until he'd had a chance to check on what he was supposed to smell like today. 

"I mean," he pulled his t-shirt on over his head and put one foot up on the edge of the bath to tie his trainers, "some of the time, to the Slythocentrics out there, I'm the spawn of the devil for what I almost did to their ickle Sevvie-kins and some of the time I am.." he straightened up and struck a pose, "a sex-god… and so are you. I spend huge amounts of my time making women moan – when I'm not making you whimper! And, please, what is all _that_ about?"

"You mean the slash?" Remus sounded amused. "I have no idea. Maybe because we hugged each other in the Shack? Maybe because out of all the people at Hogwarts _someone_ has to be gay? I don't know. But I do know that we have it easy in comparison to some of the others."

"Jeez, yes," Sirius grimaced. They picked up their towels and wash kits and crossed the landing towards their dormitories.

"Bathroom Four's empty," Sirius bellowed and he and Remus' eyes met as a tall, pale individual stepped wearily from his room and limped towards them.

"Tough one, Legolas?" Remus asked.

The elf smiled wanly.

"Boromir again," he whispered. "Between you and me I think he rather enjoys it." He heaved a deep sigh and his voice quavered for a moment as he gasped, "Oh, I miss the nineteen-fifties so much! Excuse me." He covered his eyes with a shaking hand and closed the bathroom door behind him.

"And there's another one," Sirius grumbled as they collected their gear from their room and walked down the long corridor towards the stairs. "Once he was the six hundred year old representative of a wise and benign race and a damned good archer to boot.  Now he's the Mirkwood lady-boy whose hands shake so much from the stress of it he can barely nock an arrow most days."

He paused to tap gently on a door and, when there was no reply, opened it and stuck his head in.

"Harry's gone already," he said, closing the door. "I wish I had his energy. Wonder what he's up to today?"

"We can check downstairs," Remus reminded him. "It's your turn to get the breakfast."

The refectory was half empty by the time they got there, stepping around three men in Starfleet 'security' uniform who were arguing over who would take the fall that day. 

While Remus went over to join the scrum around the assignment board, Sirius dumped his bag by an empty table and got into the queue behind Zorro who was demonstrating a fencing move to Aragorn, who was politely feigning interest, and Miles Vorkosigan, who was not. He caught Sirius eye and grinned sardonically.

"Poker school, tonight, Black?" he asked. "Usual time, usual place."

Sirius shrugged and nodded.

"Can't make any promises," he said, "until I see what's on my schedule."

Miles nodded understandingly and turned away to snag a jug of juice.

There wasn't a huge amount left to choose from but Sirius put a meal of sorts together and returned to their table where Remus was waiting, listening in resignation to four of the six James Bonds who were trying to cap each others innuendo.

"Well?" he asked as he sat down and placed Remus' tea squarely between his waiting hands. Remus gripped the mug like a lifeline.

"Glad to see you brought plenty, we'll need it," Remus replied and took a large swig. "The day from hell. All NC-17. First thing you're dying heroically saving Harry from Voldemort…"

"OK, so..?"

"Then you're dying ignominiously betraying Harry _to _Voldemort…."

"Second time this week. Go on."

"Then a routine "getting laid at Lupin's", I'll see you there. And again, same tune different words. Followed by a couple of nice easy PWPs." Remus hesitated and Sirius scowled at him.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Remus sighed and pushed his sched across the table.

"Last entry of the day," he said.

Sirius read it and swore.

"Not again," he said, his face twisted with disgust.

"Sorry, mate," Remus commiserated. His own list for the day wasn't too bad, though the quick switches back and forth between slash and het stories sometimes made his head spin. He sat quietly, watching Sirius weigh up the storyline, give a professional nod and accept his fate with a gallant lift of the shoulders and a curl of the lip.

"Roll on Book Five?" Remus suggested.

"Roll on Book bloody Seven," Sirius grumbled. He glanced enviously down the refectory to the table where most of the characters from the Belgariad were sharing a leisurely pot of tea and a draught board. "Perhaps when that's out we might get a bit more peace?"

"Then there'll be the films," Remus pointed out. "Don't forget – there are still people writing Dr Who f.f. and there hasn't been a new doctor for – years."

Sirius nodded and shovelled up some cornflakes, munching while he scanned the tell-tales beside each assignment. Routine – apart from the last one, he thought with a shudder – with four changes of eye colour, three of hair length and a change from curls to waves to straight. 

"I'll being seeing Harry this morning, I suppose," Sirius mused, "but what're the kids up too this afternoon?"

"Looks like the complaints bore fruit," Remus told him with satisfaction. "They're getting a full hour for lunch and their scheds have been simplified. This has the downside that Harry is spending the whole afternoon chasing or being chased by Draco but it's all PG13 max – almost a day off really."

"Lucky little sod," Sirius grinned. "It was worth the rollicking we had then. And a whole hour for lunch – oh, that reminds me…." He rolled a few slices of toast in a napkin and put them in his bag. Sometimes he was fed, sometimes not and sometimes he was but it was rat.

"Ready?" Remus asked.

They left their plates on the table and picked up their gear and wandered across to the portals. Their way took them close to the table where Severus was setting up the chess board  and Miles Vorkosigan was leafing through his sheets for the day. Tarzan and Lord Morpheus, waiting their turn, grinned a greeting.

"Morning?" Remus greeted them. "Severus, are you coming?"

"I'm not on til 9.30," Severus replied coolly, "and I don't anticipate this taking that long."

Miles raised his eyebrows at that but didn't respond.

"Miles," Sirius smiled. "The poker might be out for tonight." He held out his sheet and the small man winced as he read the indicated entry.

"I wouldn't stand for that, if I were you," he said.

"What choice do I have?" Sirius asked. "What choice do any of us have? I'm sure Sev wouldn't have endured half the shit he's been through if he had a choice."

"This," Severus told Miles, archly, "is the man who announced in the bathroom this morning that he doesn't believe that he's real."

Tarzan gave a crack of laughter but Miles frowned.

"Not real? Now there's a thought. What makes you say that?"

Sirius looked down at him warily.

"Gut feeling," he said, eventually. "I remember when it was just the books, you see," he added, apologetically, "before there was all this other stuff. I wasn't real in canon but I was realler then than I am now – if you see what I mean."

"You were never real," Severus said, shunting a pawn forward then leaning back in his seat. "You were only ever the absentee emotional crutch – there to provide advice and back-up if necessary but not to interfere with the kids activities – the ideal, if lackadaisical, parent. Dammit, you didn't even have an allocated hair colour until Book Four.  Whereas I," he scowled as Miles knight came into play, "was a constant presence in their little lives."

"Like a bad case of eczema," Sirius agreed and Tarzan laughed again, licking the tip of his index finger and making an imaginary mark as though keeping score.

Miles laughed too but Lord Morpheus was frowning.

"That is a dangerous thought," he said. "If we are not real, what are we?"

There was one of the silences that usually followed one of Morpheus's pronouncements, where everybody wondered whether it was a rhetorical question or not; everybody except Tarzan, who was reaching for the fruit bowl.

"I wish I wasn't real," a sad voice murmured and Legolas slunk past, unstrung bow in hand, followed by half a dozen leering orcs, one of whom was mercifully carrying a small tube of lube.

They all winced.

A stirring from the flight of steps at the other end of the room drew their attention. Dubbed the 'Stairway to Heaven' by some frustrated wag, the sweeping curve of marble led up to the, reputedly, luxurious Ladies Quarters. 

"Heads up, lads," Miles whispered. "Here they come."

In respectful silence they watched the Queens of Fanfiction descend. No standing in line for a breakfast off a tray for these ladies but a separate kitchen and dining room to match up to the high standards of the rest of their accommodation. Hard-working and dedicated, there was so few of them that it was generally agreed that they earned their privileges. That didn't stop a man looking and dreaming though.

Sirius gave a low groan.

"Seven of Nine," he murmured through gritted teeth.

"I've always had a really high regard for Polgara, myself," Remus sighed.

"Too brainy," Tarzan said through a mouthful of banana, "but I could give that Ginny Weasley one."

"Gentlemen," a cold voice cut across their heated speculations. "Don't we all have places to be? Things to do? People to see?"

Remus poked Sirius in the ribs as he drew breath to ask Elrond who had died and made him king – he was already on probation from an incident the previous week during which Commander Ryker had been slipped a large dose of laxative just before donning his spacesuit for an EVA. Since being made a trusty Elrond had lost what little sense of humour he had ever had and possessed a remarkable facility for appearing at inconvenient moments, and Sirius really couldn't afford another black mark against his name. Sirius nodded grimly and they collected their bags and walked off towards the portals, listening to Severus and Miles upholding the honour of the working guy by giving the middle management a hard time.

"I'm serious, Remus," Sirius resumed his rant as he punched in the first code number of the day. "I'm not letting this lie. If we aren't real, maybe we are imaginary. If I  _am _imaginary, then surely my imagination is as valid as anyone's."

"Well," Remus conceded, "if you really _believe_ that, you should be able to affect the way the story works out. I mean, you could just turn round and say, "No, today I don't think I really want to fight the forces of evil. I think I'd like to play a round of golf instead"."

"Remus," Sirius' eyes lit up. "I think you may have a point. But two heads are better than one. Let's try it. Look," he pointed to the third and fourth assignments of the day, "these 'getting laid at Lupin's'. What say, whichever way they try to write the story – um…"

"I get to be on top," Remus suggested with a grin. Sirius sighed.

"OK, it's a start. Honestly, Remus," he grinned, looking more cheerful suddenly than Remus could remember him looking for months, "I've got a good feeling about this."

"Fine," Remus smiled and hefted his bag onto his shoulder, "but I still get to be on top." With that he stepped through the portal and into somebody's fictional universe.

Sirius grinned and stepped through his own doorway for another hard day pounding various mattresses.

Over the chess board, Severus eyes met those of the diminutive Vorkosigan.

"They're up to something," Severus commented.

"Good," Miles replied. "Check."

"Shit," Severus hastily moved a bishop. "I'll let you know how it pans out." 

They both turned in response to a shrill scream and watched as Rhodry Maelwedd chased Rincewind up to the landing and returned grinning and twirling the wizard's hat around the tip of one long finger. The Deverry man shouted gleefully and tossed the hat up to lodge on the chandelier.

Miles nodded and moved a castle. "Just think of the possibilities, Severus. So many heros in such a small space. So much energy and commitment. If we could organise things the way we want, I could be six foot four and you could have a personality!"

Severus grinned and moved a knight. "With brains who needs a personality. Check."

Miles swore, shrugged and tipped his king in defeat. 

May be Continued.


	2. The Mattress 2 Resprung

The Mattress – Resprung 

The refectory was quite full. It was always the same at this time of the evening. Most of the day shift had finished their schedules and had returned, tired and ravenous, while the night shift, now that the automatic curtains had shut out the last of the sunlight, had emerged and were collecting their lists and having their largely liquid breakfasts. 

Remus had been waiting at the table closest to the portals for over an hour and was beginning to get worried.

"Surely he can't be much longer?" Harry said, nursing his mug of coffee.

"I dunno," Remus sighed. "When it happened to me, I was off colour for a week."

"I remember," Draco looked up from his hand of cards. "You looked appalling. Twist," Ron gave him a card, "twist," Ron gave him another one. "Bugger."

"The correct term is 'bust'," Ron informed him, grinning as he raked in his winnings.

"Oh, whatever," Draco tossed the cards down and leaned back, draping one forearm in it's spiked wristlets across the back of the chair and scratching the varnish. Since embracing Gothdom with both arms, his attire had gone to ever new extremes. The "Draco in leather trousers" brigade didn't know the half of it. Remus eyed him with affectionate amusement. To be honest the black hair and eyeliner rather suited him, as well as making life very difficult for the make-up department. Ron and Harry, too, had grown up fast. Too fast , it might be thought, but that was no wonder bearing in mind the way they were spending most of their time.

"Look," Harry set his mug down beside his book and nodded towards the portals where a light had just turned green. "That might be Sirius now."

Severus stepped into the refectory with a contented air. He had had a hard day but, on the whole, was quite pleased with how things had gone. In particular his last but one task of the day had been – satisfying. He permitted himself a small, bleak smile then sighed as he was hailed.

"Severus." Remus was looking worried and the Potter boy, at his heels, looked even worse.

"What?" Severus demanded, setting his bag down beside his immaculately polished boots.

"When did you finish work?" Remus demanded. "Because Sirius isn't back yet."

"And you had another gig after his," Harry added. Harry had long ago abandoned his scruffy teen look for something much more stylish and, today, was sporting a cashmere sweater and turquoise contacts.

Severus met the accusing stare without difficulty. "No need to worry. He's right behind me," he informed them, adding, as the warning bell sounded, "though you might want to arrange for a stretcher."

Elrond, who hadn't long come off his own shift, shouted across the refectory to the nightwatchman as the light above the portal began to flash urgently. The ancient vampire had difficulty forcing his way through the press as those present crowded round, always eager to witness anyone in extremis. Barnabas Collins, a star in his day but about whom no fiction had been written since the early 70s, hovered around the edges of the crowd and tapped shoulders to no avail. Fledglings these days had no sense of respect. His problem was solved when the rising hubbub attracted the attention of Captain Carrot, Elrond's lieutenant.

"Excuse me, gentleman," he said respectfully, hands like hams gently parting the crowd and they stood aside for him, good naturedly – nobody objected to Carrot telling them what to do because he did it so politely. Besides, once, he had been goaded into losing his self-control and Reepicheep's rapier was still stuck in the ceiling. Collins dodged in behind him and dragged the stretcher across to the portal.

The opening blurred and a bag hurtled into the room, causing several of those watching to skip hurriedly aside. Then Sirius Black toppled bonelessly after it and collapsed onto the floor where he immediately curled into a foetal position. "Whoa, what happened to him?" Spike demanded.

Remus had dropped to his knees beside Sirius' head and was too busy checking for vital signs to answer while Severus stood by watching with quiet enjoyment.

"Tortured to within an inch of his life, I bet," Angel replied.

"Sounds like a party to me," Spike grinned. "But torture alone wouldn't do that to him. Look, he's waking up."

Sirius moaned piteously and Harry stooped over him patting his shoulder rather helplessly.

"Torture," Angel said again, shaking his head sadly.

"No," Spike disagreed gently, placing a mug in his colleague's hands. "Angel, stick with what you know. Thinking isn't what you're best at, being dark and brooding is. So dark and brood your way over to the counter and get me a top up. That has begun to clot." Angel wandered off, followed by Dracula and several of his Brides who had lost interest when no blood was to be seen. 

Severus watched them go sourly. You couldn't fault them for style but immortality obviously wasn't IQ linked. Then a happy thought occurred to him and he looked around.

"Is there a Doctor in the house?" he shouted.

"Severus!" Remus snarled before he was bowled over in the rush. 

Chaos reigned in a swirl of frock coats, cravats and elastic sided boots as they jockeyed for advantage until the 4th Doctor, using his height and reach, beat the others off with his hat. He in turn was ousted, mercifully before he could find a suitable orifice for his sonic screwdriver, by the wickedly sharp elbows of the ancient Doctor McCoy. He and Doctor Watson conferred for a moment and consulted Peter Blood who offered a choice between bleeding and purging. Severus met Remus' accusing glare with a smirk.

 "Just getting my own back for that little incident last summer," he told him, then the smirk broadened into a grin.

"No," Remus protested, turning back to the assorted medics, "Dr McCoy, he certainly doesn't need an enema. Good grief, man, you're obsessed."

Man of action that he was, Harry led Ron and Draco in a spearhead attack, driving through the wildly gesticulating doctors in an attempt to rescue his supine godfather. The assorted doctors were not happy to be deprived of their entertainment and things began to turn nasty. Ron got a sharp smack round the ear from Dr Watson's tongue depressor. Draco got the 6th Doctor, the wussy blond one who didn't last long, in a headlock. Harry stole _the_ scarf and used it to lash Doctors three through five to an ornamental aspidistra stand. At that point the calm bulk of Captain Carrot intervened, ushering the antagonists aside with a gentle but irresistible sweep of his arms to clear a little space. Remus darted into it and heaved a sigh of relief to see Dr Bashir calmly taking Sirius pulse.

"He's in shock," Bashir said, "and no wonder. You know the drill, Remus. Keep him warm and try to get some hot sweet tea into him. There's no point in asking him to take it easy for a few days –  fan fiction is a harsh mistress. I only wish…," then he shrugged and stood up. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "We've all been there." Then he returned to the Star Fleet area where all the various generations not currently holding down Lt. Worf were cheering McCoy, who had just dropped the frail first Doctor with a vicious swipe of his tricorder. 

As the combatants were separated, given a very gentle telling off and sent on their way, Remus knelt beside Sirius again and tried to uncurl him. Spike, who had been hovering around the edges of the scrum, dying to get involved but still suffering from his chipped state, dropped to his heels in a crackle of black leather and grinned at Remus.

"What happened to him, then?" he demanded. "Go on, tell me."

Before Remus could answer Sirius' eyes opened blearily. He lay still for a moment then flung himself over onto his back with a yell. His right hand ripped his t-shirt up from the waist, exposing belly and pectorals while the left forced its way under his waistband and down, searching frantically. His back arched as he stared, panting in panic, down at his well honed and undeniably masculine torso then he found what he sought, his hand tightened convulsively and he flopped back down with a bleat of miserable relief.

"Bela Lugosi," Spike swore," not a sex change fic!"

Remus glared at him and helped Carrot and Harry transfer his whimpering friend onto the stretcher. "Yes," he said tersely. "Sex change, pregnancy and childbirth in a one shot. Sirius, it's all right. See…all present and correct. You can let go of it now."

"Poor bastard," Spike said with glee. "Hey, though. How'd he get the black eye?" 

"Black eye?" Harry leaned in and pushed Sirius' hair back from his face. Indeed, he had the beginnings of an impressive mouse forming around his left eye.

"Oh," Remus sounded pleased. "I think I need to talk it over with Sirius first. Tomorrow. I'll tell you tomorrow. Would someone give us a hand here?"

There was the inevitable scatter as people realised that they had better things to do but some did remain to help. Ron quickly assembled the makings of a meal on a tray, to take up in case Sirius came round long enough to eat (Ron was well used to this since Fred and George had taken to their beds in utter embarrassment at the preponderance of Weasleycest and would have starved if the rest of the family hadn't taken it upon themselves to ensure that they were fed). Remus and Harry, following him upstairs with the head end of the stretcher, grinned at each other as they listened to the conversation at the foot end.

"Of course, after it happened to me," Spike was saying, "I didn't let go of my nads for a month."

"So that was why," Legolas commented, mildly. "We did all wonder. Now the most distressing thing for me was the mood swings – oh, and the stretch marks. And the morning sickness. The swollen ankles were a bugger too."

"Ah, but did you get varicose veins as well?"

"Tell me about it! Like bunches of grapes."

"And constipation!"

"Will you two stop wittering on about it," astonishingly Severus was following carrying Sirius' bag as well as his own. "You're like a pair of old women." And he pushed past and strode ahead with the utter lack of sympathy of one whose numerous pregnancies had been largely trouble free.

Spike scowled and Legolas sighed. "Bitch," the elf said quietly.

***

Next morning, Sirius was subdued but otherwise fairly cheerful. Frightful though the experience had been, something else had happened that was far more important, and he was able to move around quite normally, only occasionally grabbing his essentials for reassurance. Consequently, he and Remus, having discussed the matter, rose early, commandeered a table and invited various people to join them at breakfast. Well aware they wouldn't get a proper hearing until everybody was fed, they also commandeered large amounts of food. Gradually the table filled with their colleagues for the HP universe plus some from other genres. Miles Vorkosigan set himself at the foot of the table quite deliberately, earning an appreciative grin from Sirius, who was still a little riled at the way Severus had calmly taken the chair at the head, then they settled to eat and observe the morning rituals. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Remus glanced up from his cornflakes and nudged Sirius. He looked up at the impressive, black-clad figure descending the stairs and hissed a warning to Harry who grinned and nudged Draco who waved a croissant at Aragorn, who very gently tapped Legolas wrist (since his startled squeals had proven to be bad for everybody's digestions) and he poked Miles Vorkosigan in the ribs, who caught Sam Vimes' eye and pointed. Gradually silence fell and they waited as the black clad man reached the ground floor and strode towards the breakfast bar.

There was a crash.

Harry whooped and high-fived Sirius while almost every man in the room lifted his voice in a delighted chorus of "Take them off!"

Neo, cheeks pink, grinned sheepishly and rubbed a thigh bruised against the corner of a table for the third time that week. Then he reached up and removed his Raybans, placing them safely in the pocket of his enormous coat.

"Sheer affectation," Severus sneered. "Pass the marmalade."

Breakfast proceeded as normal (other than that nobody would accept anything Sirius passed them, put off by the feeling that his hand might have recently been in his pants) until everybody was pleasantly full and had settled back with fresh pots of tea and coffee – or a pint of Bearhugger's in the case of Sam Vimes, who had fallen off the wagon quite catastrophically after one particular fic. It could have been worse – Detritus was still on light duties.

"Right," Severus automatically called the meeting to order. "I expect you are wondering what all this is about. Well, frankly so am I, and it had better be good. Remus, perhaps you'd care to explain. Not you, Black, you'd take too long."

Sirius scowled but urged Remus to his feet.

"Gentlemen," Remus began, "perhaps some of you are aware that yesterday Sirius came up with a quite startling theory. He surmised that, in actual fact, none of us are real. That we are all imaginary, despite all evidence to the contrary, and that, in that case, if our actions can be controlled by the imaginations of others then surely our own imaginations are just as valid. If this is true I don't think I need to spell out to you what this could mean for us."

Severus' "No, get on with it," clashed with Miles', "Oh, please do."

Remus, in full professor mode, nodded an acknowledgement to Miles and proceeded. "If our imaginations are as valid as those of the – ahem – authors, then we should be able to control our own actions. We should – in short – be able to have a say in how the stories turn out." A stunned silence was followed by a buzz of interest. "Naturally such a premise has to be tested thoroughly," Remus continued, "and in the few minutes we had to discuss it before leaving for work yesterday morning, Sirius and I decided to try it out during two very similar stories. Um…" he lowered his eyes and flushed, "we call these – er – "Getting Laid at Lupin's". I'm sure some of you have similar recurrent scenarios in your own universes."

"Shit, yes. 'Bathtime with Boromir'," Legolas grumbled.

"Me too," Sam Vimes confirmed, " I call it "Orders from the Patrician"."

"I don't _call_ it anything," Miles growled, "but it's all to do with me being _short_." 

"I get that, too," chorused four glum hobbits and a dwarf whose name was Gimli but, from his expression, could equally well have been Grumpy.

"Detention," Severus snapped. "And that's what you'll be on if you make us all late. For pity's sake, Remus, what happened?"

"My suggestion was that – however the author intended to – um – arrange us – I should always – um – take the dominant position – throughout the whole of both fics." There was another buzz, this time of admiration from men who were well aware of the effort that would entail. 

"Just as well it wasn't the other way round," Severus muttered and they had to waste a few moments persuading Sirius (who was currently a little sensitive to slurs on his manhood) back into his seat.

"Gentleman, it is with great pleasure," Remus announced, "that I can tell you that we enjoyed at least a partial success. The first fic went exactly as planned, despite protests from the author – and, towards the end, from Sirius who was, frankly, getting a bit of a battering. However we decided to continue during the second fic just to make sure that the first time hadn't been a fluke. And that, gentlemen, was when it got really interesting. The second author was perhaps more experienced, perhaps of stronger will. The plot, such as it was, kept twisting and turning, determined to follow the author's intention. Eventually, just as I was about to give up, Sirius pinched me, hard, and I punched him, as you can see, in the eye. The pain concentrated our minds wonderfully and we were able to reduce the rating from an NC-17 to a mild R..rated for violence and bad language rather than for – er - sex."

"A mild R," Legolas murmured, "a mild R!" then dropped his face into his hands, shoulders heaving as he was overcome with nostalgic emotion. Miles sighed  and patted his back.

"A mild R," he repeated. "And what do you suppose the author thought about that?"

"That was the interesting part," Sirius interrupted. "The first one hardly struggled at all but the second, after fighting tooth and nail for a short time, settled down and appeared to think _it was all her own idea_."

"You mean that our imaginations can affect the authors?" Severus demanded.

"Absolutely," Remus said with a grin. "Gentlemen, this means that, with a lot of effort – I don't want anyone to think that this is going to be easy – we can make them _write the fics we want to be in_."

"Bugger that," Severus snarled. "I see an entirely different scenario and I think I'm going to call it 'Payback Time'." 

**

Ok – apologies to JKR, Joss Whedon, Gene Roddenbury, the BBC, Bram Stoker, Lois McMasters Bujold, Guy Gavriel Kay, Rafael Sabatini, Terry Pratchett and to the estate of the late J R R Tolkein. I'm sorry but I cannot bring myself to apologise to Warner Bros. In fact I think they should be apologising to us – intellectual copyright, my arse!

PS  - 'twist' and 'bust' are terms used in the UK when playing a card game called 'twenty-one'. 'Twist' means 'please give me another card, if you will be so good'. 'Bust' means 'oh dear, my cards add up to more than twenty-one and I have lost the game, drat'. Just be thankful that Draco and Ron were not playing Cribbage, another interesting British card game whose convoluted scoring system involves the phrase 'and one for his knob'!


	3. The Mattress 3 Recovered

The Mattress 3 – Recovered

A/N I have had a happy time trawling through lots of different fandoms and have inducted, forcibly in some cases, a few new characters. If they behave in an OOC fashion my apologies – I come from a part of the country with only 4 television channels and one of those is all in Welsh so I have never seen some of the best-loved fan vehicles. Also, while I have read some books in some series, I haven't always managed to read them all. On the other hand, if they behave in an OOC fashion well…how do you know that that isn't the way they _always_ behave when unobserved?

**

The Mattress – Recovered 

Just another normal day in the Fan Fiction Factory. The early morning sunlight slanted down across the refectory illuminating the tables and chasing the last members of the night shift hissing into the shadows. People set about getting their breakfasts in their normal slightly dazed fashion, queuing up at the counter with their trays, some chatting idly with the next man in line, some poring over that day's schedule and some, having learned the worst, just staring into space. Another normal…boring morning…And so it was with great pleasure and interest that they all, man and youth, abandoned whatever it was they were doing and looked round when a snarling voice howled an accusation which echoed around the high ceilinged room.

"You have created a monster!"

Frankenstein flinched guiltily and his creation gave him a suspicious look.

"You haven't, have you?" the monster said accusingly. "Because you promised me that I was the only one for you. Oh, Frankie, how could you!!"

"I say," said Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia, straightening his school cap and hitching up his short trousers, "what's going on, Edmund, old chap. Can you see?"

"Looks like those Harry Potter people mixing it with another fandom again," Edmund the Just replied, mopping egg off his tie. "Honestly, you'd think they'd grow up."

Across the room Harry dithered frantically, and Draco dithered more decoratively, while Remus held up both hands and stepped forward in as unthreatening a manner as possible.

"Allright," he said soothingly. "We appreciate you have a genuine grievance and Sirius shouldn't have said what he did. Now…put him down, please."

But Lurtz, distraught, was in no mood to be reasoned with. 

"A _monster_," he howled again, spit squirting past his fangs in a fetid spray and the obvious break in his voice made it pitiful to hear. His dreadlocks were unravelling, his face was drawn and he had lost weight, but this was of little comfort to Sirius who was dangling with his feet some inches from the ground. He locked his hands around Lurtz's massive forearm and tried to take his own weight. He tried to apologise but the taloned hand currently massaging his throat was cutting off his wind.

"Glurrk," he managed, turning purple, and another orc snorted angrily.

"Don't you fpeak to me," Glurrk lisped around his mouthful of discoloured ivory and shook his head 'til all his piercings rattled. "I'm juft af upset af he if. Go on, fcrag the baftard, Lurtf."

Lurtz gave an anguished bellow and drew back a fist at which point Sirius kicked him solidly in the place that all males hate to be kicked, even orcs because even orcs born from bags of goo have gonads in fan fiction. At the same moment Harry, who had been expecting something like that, hit Lurtz across the back of the head with a chair.

"_Fight!"_ somebody on the Silmarillion table yelled and Turin Turambar punched the head of the nearest minion of Morgoth. Simultaneously, Morgoth himself hurled his muesli at the back of Sauron's head, hoping for some payback for Sauron being the better known Dark Lord. I mean, he'd changed his name and everything, Melkor wasn't nearly as cool sounding, yet Sauron was still the one most people thought of when contemplating the ultimate evil. It was a good throw but missed. The bowl, milk, muesli and all, soared across the aisle and got Duncan Macleod instead. The big Highlander scowled, milk and mixed fruit dripping through his long black hair and pooling in the lap of his kilt. 

"_Food fight_!" Methos screamed and tossed his crumpet at Ensign Wesley Crusher and the air filled with flying comestibles. 

"Aw, guys," Destiny protested then he and Dream disappeared behind a protective umbrella while their unruly cousin Loki deftly slid his eggy soldiers down the back of Desire's designer jacket.

With a snarl of fury, Macleod stood up, rounding the corner of his table and Morgoth cringed and turned to run. He might have made it to the stairs but was bowled over by Rincewind, less seen than heard as a Doppler scream, accelerating past, legs pumping furiously and one hand clamping his hat to his head as Cohen the Barbarian gave geriatric chase, more on principle than from any desire to do him harm. Morgoth landed hard with his head between Macleod's boots and rather stupidly opened his eyes and looked up. His scream was drowned by the roar as the orderly room dissolved in chaos.

Remus gave a deep sigh as he ducked a ballistic muffin. Life had been so peaceful, boring but peaceful. Now, filled with a new sense of purpose, everybody seemed to be just that little bit more prepared to assert their masculinity. This was the third time this week his breakfast had been disrupted. Evenings were quieter but they were usually all shagged out by then. A movement caught his eye and he looked up to see Glurrk eyeing him up with ill intent. Remus sighed again and nodded to his back up. 

Glurrk gave an oddly shrill scream as Draco yanked the orc's unclean loincloth up around his misshapen shoulder blades in a wedgie of epic proportions.

"I'll do for you, arf-wipe," Glurrk shrilled.

"Hurry up, Remus," Draco said, dropping his usual drawl in sheer self preservation and yanking the loincloth an inch or two higher. "It's no picnic back here."

"Call him off," Glurrk squeaked, swinging his arms wildly and Draco dodged the clawing hands, shook his currently magenta streaked hair out of his eyes and grinned as Remus stepped in. 

Mild mannered Remus was often viewed as a bit of a joke by the more aggressive denizens of the Fan Fiction Factory. They heard the quiet voice, saw the gentle smile and forgot that for one night out of every twenty-eight an early night with a cup of Horlicks was the last thing on his agenda. They also forgot that, if necessary, a werewolf can punch through a breeze-block wall.

Draco dived out of the way as Remus' fist began its arc. There was a click like two billiard balls connecting as Glurrk's fangs clashed together, then the orc's horny feet left the ground and he flew backwards. He landed upon the long table at which Remus had been breakfasting and slid along the polished surface sending plates and cups shooting into the laps of the diners. Severus snatched his salted porridge and prune juice up with an exclamation of annoyance as Glurrk whizzed past in a torrent of cornflakes and milk. 

"Lupin," Snape snapped, "have a little consideration!" and he put his bowl and glass back down. He had just time for one more mouthful before he was flattened by a couple of Sindarin elves who were gleefully giving one of their snooty Noldorin cousins a shirtful. Heaving back up, snorting porridge and with prune juice running into his eyes, he hastily slid under the table to take refuge with Miles Vorkosigan, a few hobbits and Reepicheep, who had all learned the hard way that small people often get stepped on in a melee. Miles face stiffened but he generously didn't laugh. Instead he offered Snape a croissant.

Lucius Malfoy, just across the table from Snape, hadn't been so lucky as to escape Glurrk's slide unscathed. With his lap full of scalding tea and devilled kidneys he swore and sought to spread the misery. It was almost too easy. Ron Weasley was passing on his way from the counter, tray held high in a vain attempt to protect himself from a hail of Rice Crispies. Lucius grinned and slipped his cane between Ron's ankles. 

"Whoops," Ron stumbled and went down, food and drink flying. He rolled over, scowling then froze as the tip of the cane came to rest against his Adam's apple. Lucius looked down at him and raised his eyebrows. 

"Who's your Daddy?" he asked with a sneer of satisfaction, drawing back the cane for a blow.

"Errr…I am, actually," said Arthur Weasley and brought his laden tray down with a crash on Malfoy's aristocratic noggin. 

Ron wriggled hurriedly out from between the two furiously scrapping wizards and, as he made his feet, met the sardonic gaze of Malfoy junior. There was one moment when both boys rolled their eyes in mutual embarrassment at the antics of their elders then Draco was jumped by a Moria goblin, Ron took a kipper to the ear and the battle swept them apart.

Elrond came pelting out of his office, clipboard in hand, and screamed an order to cease and desist but this had little effect. There was so much noise now that he might as well have been impersonating a goldfish for all the effect the opening and closing of his mouth had. Carrot, at his elbow, cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Gentlemen," he bellowed, "I'm surprised at you!" His voice made the rafters rattle and many of the combatants did stop fighting in order to watch - Carrot in action was poetry in motion. However there was a nasty knot of struggling wizards and orcs in the centre of the room where the Uruk Hai were getting stuck into anyone with a wand quite impartially and, as usual, there were a few other beasts, brutes and assorted ne'er-do-wells who were taking the opportunity for some exercise even though they had no real affiliation to either group.

"Oh really," Carrot said, his big honest face creased in a frown of mingled disappointment and exasperation, and waded into the fray.

"Excuse me…beg pardon…watch your backs…coming through," he murmured as his big fists swung and men and creatures of all fandoms ducked and scattered, clearing a path towards the heart of the battle.

Remus was moving economically, flanked by Harry and Draco and with Ron at his back. Moria goblins had pretty soon learned not to mess with them but the big Uruks were a pain. Additionally someone had upended a jug of pineapple juice over Remus' head and he could feel himself getting sticky. Harry's hair was spiked up with oatmeal and Draco had somebody's fried slice adhering to his chest like a medal.

"Look out," Ron yelled and they were mown flat by Gollum, travelling in a low trajectory and apparently thrown frisbee style by Faramir who had had it up to _here_ with being the good one.

"Ouch, sssshit, presssscioussss," Gollum complained as he untangled himself from Remus but Remus was watching Harry whose face had gone white.

Remus heaved Gollum away and surged to his feet but he was too late. Sirius with a squeezy bottle of ketchup in one hand, had squirted a red stream into Lurtz's eye and was laughing like a lunatic. Lurtz swung a fist at random and Sirius weaved.

"Oh no, NO!" Harry whimpered. "He's going to say it!"

"Come on," Sirius laughed, "you can do better than that."

Remus, Harry, Draco and Ron closed their eyes and winced. Lurtz, until that moment a consistent south paw, brought a swingeing right uppercut out of nowhere, rocking Sirius back on his heels to fall in an arc that would have been far more graceful if he hadn't been dripping with Sugar-coated Frosties. He flew back several feet; they could clearly see his lips moving and he appeared to be saying "What the fuck?" as he crashed headfirst into a Nazgul who let out a wail like a banshee and slowly crumpled up, both hands clutching its insubstantial groin. Harry's wavering yell of distressed deja vu as his godfather's body was obscured by the veils of tatty black drapery was almost droned by Lurtz's roar of glee as he stepped forward to bring his steel toe-capped buskins into play. One mighty kick lifted the Nazgul back onto its feet and Lurtz drew back his boot intending to finish the job once and for all. Sirius, his eyes rolled back into his head with the shock of his sudden immersion in the wraithworld, was in no condition to defend himself and Remus, with a resigned gasp, hurled himself into the Uruk's gloating face. Fangs snapped inches from his throat, he heard someone, he thought it was Aragorn, say "Don't let him head butt you or your nose'll be in your ear," then crippling hands fastened on his shoulder and his left leg and he was hoisted high into the air, surely to be brought down across an upswinging knee…

"And what," said a cold and very clear voice, "do you think you are doing? Hmmm?"

Lurtz froze and Remus recognised a certain uneasy quality in the sudden silence.

"Put that werewolf down this _minute_…gently!"

Remus was carefully set back on his feet, Lurtz even helped him pull his robe straight, and he looked across to see Legolas standing, unsullied by anyone's breakfast, with his thumbs hooked into his belt and a very chilly look in his eye.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself?" he demanded and the assembled orcs shifted uneasily and gradually joined in a murmured chorus of "Very sorry, Mr Legolas, sir." Elrond was hastening forward now he was sure that his frock wouldn't get rumpled but even he halted as the Mirkwood elf glanced in his direction and raised one perfect eyebrow.

"Very well," Legolas snapped. "Clear this mess up and then get ready for work. As for you," he paused, looking Lurtz up and down with distaste, "I'll deal with you later!" 

Lurtz cringed as the elf sauntered away towards the schedule racks and he turned an agonised gaze upon Remus.

 "A monster!" Lurtz whimpered. "May God forgive you."

Remus watched the orcs slink away to fetch the cleaning trolley and then turned back to Harry who was anxiously levering his godfather into a sitting position. Sirius with milk and cereal veiling his face was rubbing his jaw.

"Ow, fuck," he said. "Where did that come from?"

 "I have no sympathy," Remus growled. "You just had to have your one-liner didn't you and you know what always happens! Just because you're officially dead that's no excuse!"

"Sorry," Sirius sounded almost as shifty as Lurtz as Harry and Ron helped him to his feet. He had to admit, he supposed, that he had been on edge for a week or so. Being dead had come as a bit if a shock and he was still working his way through it. "Hey but Remus…did you see that Legolas? Talk about a change in attitude!"

They all turned and looked across to where a couple of goblins were clearing a space at the cleanest of the tables, two more were fetching a carefully arranged tray and another was slowly and laboriously searching the racks for Legolas's schedule. Lurtz, several of his biggest henchmen and Glurkk who was trying to get a sausage out of his nostril by the simple expedient of covering his other nostril and blowing, climbed the stairs with their arms full of tools on their way to their regular morning task of breaking down the door of which ever bathroom Boromir had barricaded himself into. Legolas had been their biggest success so far.

*

Half an hour later, washed, changed and shouted at by Elrond, they resumed their interrupted meal.

"Not a bad schedule today," Remus said with satisfaction. "Easy morning and the whole afternoon's het which makes a nice change."

"Het?" asked Iolaus from the other end of the table. "What's that?"

"I'll draw you a diagram later," his special friend Hercules promised.

Harry and Draco were groaning over a fic they were to appear in that morning and Sirius glanced over Draco's shoulder to see what the problem was. He winced. There were some things no fan fiction character should be called upon to do. He gave them a sympathetic grin then turned back to Remus.

"My schedule's very light," he commented with a frown. "I'm not on at all until ten and then it's mostly angsty one-shots with OFCs for the rest of the day."

"Give them time to recover," Remus advised. "They're still writing denial fics. It won't be long 'til they go back to their WIPs."

"_Dead_ slow is it, Black?" Severus asked as he passed on the way to the portals. 

Sirius didn't deign to reply but flicked a couple of baked beans into Severus' hair once his back was turned. 

"I've got a lot of het, too," he said. "Hmmm, I wonder…."

"The ladies?" Remus followed his train of thought with no problem. "We'll have no opportunity to discuss it with them while we're …um…on the job or so to speak."

"And we can't usually get up there to talk to them when we're off duty," Draco said, a little sadly. Harry and Ron and Neville… who was holding a schedule _of his very own_… all made 'ooooh' noises and Draco flushed and tugged nervously at his nose ring. They hadn't yet identified his latest object of desire but this time, they all knew, he had it bad.

"Look, this morning we're all in that long plotted fic," Harry reminded them. "I'll sound out Hermione. I'll be subtle about it. And if everyone else takes an opportunity as it is arises…?"

"That's a good idea," Sirius grinned. "But be careful, we don't want to give too much away." He sighed. "The poor little dears…eeewww, I've got Professor Sprout."

"I bet they're as sick of it all as we are," Remus added.

Later that evening:

"Harry was …odd today," Hermione said with a frown as she settled more comfortably onto the couch. "He kept starting to say something then going all red and stopping. Then Professor Lupin did it this afternoon." The room was spacious with long picture windows leading out onto a balcony with a stunning view, currently of the wide sweep of the Cotswolds though it changed from time to time. Last week it had been a vista of the Austrian Alps and the week before that the outback with Ayers Rock glowing in all its majesty. Wind chimes tinkled, a fountain played and all around the room the Queens of Fan Fiction took their ease in whatever manner seemed best to them. Later they would be gently ushered into the dining room where they would be provided with food, exquisite in taste and low in calories and house elves, gnomes and pixies, hovered to fulfil every wish. Life, they all agreed, was incredibly civilised.

Pansy Parkinson giggled and set her embroidery aside. "Ron was funny too. My guess is that they're up to something," 

"Have you only just realised that?" Marie-Suzanne cooed with a gentle smile, her perfect teeth catching the light with their customary soft 'ting', then she turned back to Ginny, whose hair she was sculpting into an elaborate chignon.

Civilised life demanded civilised behaviour so Hermione bit her tongue. Anybody else would have had the rough side of it but to subject Marie-Suzanne, with her slender yet full-breasted figure, her delicate yet chiselled features, her limpid eyes, flowing tangle free locks and brilliantly incisive mind, to such pettiness would have been in the worst of taste. The exact details tended to change without much warning but currently Marie-Suzanne was the much loved, only daughter of a high ranking American diplomat stationed in London and his beautiful half-Veela wife, who had died in an inexplicable fall from the landing in their sumptuous home. Hermione knew when she was outclassed but couldn't help but feel that all the good looks and brains made Marie-Suzanne to good to be true and that perhaps, on the quiet, she was plotting to bring about Armageddon. Still that was no excuse for bad manners.

"How long have you known?" she asked meekly.

"Well," Marie-Suzanne paused to add a note or two to the concerto she was currently writing – for full orchestra, flugel horn and Albanian nose flute, "I wasn't absolutely sure until this morning. After all, as I am sure Harriet will agree, it is unwise to jump to hasty conclusions based upon incomplete evidence."

Harriet Vane glanced over the top of her book, met one of Marie-Suzanne's singularly sweet smiles and nodded, her knuckles only paling slightly.

"Oh, do go on, Marie-Suzanne," Ginny begged, gritting her teeth but unable to help her gushing tone.

"Well, today I was working on that Seventh Year fic…" Marie-Suzanne began.

"You mean the one where Harry and Draco are both wild with love for you?" Ginny asked.

"The one where Draco attempts to win you over by booking a box at Covent Garden and Harry crashes the party?" Lavender Brown added from her position on the tiger skin in front of the fire.

"Where the diva falls off the stage into the orchestra pit?" Parvati said smiling across from the balcony where she was doing her tai chi.

"And gets her head stuck in the euphonium halfway through the second act of La Boheme.." Ginny added.

"And the conductor asks if there's anyone in the audience who knows the part because the understudy has gone down with cystitis…." Hermione continued.

"Well I thought it was going to be La Boheme but somehow it turned out to be Tosca," Marie-Suzanne corrected them gently. "Luckily I am note and word perfect in both parts so it made little difference to me. Well, all through the first act of the opera when the boys should have been gazing in rapt adoration of my exquisite profile while I lost myself in the beauty of the music they – well, I am ashamed to say that they were so unprofessional as to play noughts and crosses all around the edges of the programme. Once I was on stage I dread to think what they were up to but during the pianissimo moments I'm sure I heard giggling. Then," she heaved a deep sigh at the frailty of men, "at the climax of the opera…"

"You mean where you take a swan dive off the battlements!" Hermione's smile was almost as sweet as Marie-Suzanne's.

"Er…yes. I thought everything was going as planned. They had moved to the front of the box, had got out their opera glasses and were watching attentively. Then I jumped and…oh dear," she blushed deliciously, the faintest peach bloom of pink staining her cheekbones,  "for some reason somebody had replaced the crash mats with a trampoline and – and – I – I bounced! On the second time I cleared the top of the battlements I quite clearly heard Harry and Draco singing "hey ho and _up _she rises." She paused for a moment to regain her composure and Hermione saw Harriet Vane's book crumple in her hands as the lady sleuth closed her eyes to savour the mental image.

"Then," Marie-Suzanne continued sadly, "they didn't even come round to my dressing-room with flowers or wait for me to get my slap off or anything. I found them in the theatre bar nine sheets to the wind on crème de menthe frappes with Guinness chasers and, on the way back to my Mayfair apartment…sorry, flat…they insisted we stop for a kebab."

"So … not quite what you had expected then?" Hermione said, sympathetically.

"Well, it certainly wasn't the plotline the author intended," Marie-Suzanne was far too well-bred to sound indignant, "and neither did I expect them to put me in a cab to go home while they swanned off to the Ministry of Sound to meet up with…you can probably guess who. I think Harry's godfather is a bad influence and will come to a bad end," Marie-Suzanne said portentously and was not surprised at the silence that met her words. When Marie-Suzanne spoke portentously, with her astonishing abilities at divination, dowsing and well-sinking, people tended to listen. However, since almost every woman in the room was thinking very hard about Harry's godfather – even Harriet Vane bit her lip and was misty-eyed – to whom death seemed to have made no discernable difference other than, perhaps, that he was even more determined to ensure that a good time was had by all, she had no real cause for self-congratulation. Luckily she was oblivious to this. After a moment or two of quietly enjoyable reflection, reminiscence in a number of cases, they stirred, smiling at each other, and Hermione decided to strike a blow in the cause of reality.

"Ummm…," Hermione raised a hand tentatively. "Hasn't he already done that?"

Marie-Suzanne gave her a reproachful look and didn't deign to reply. "There, Ginny, dear," she said, patting the youngest Weasley's soft cheek with even softer fingers. "That's you done. Now excuse me while I go to touch up Polgara's roots. The poor old dear looks _so_ much better since we got rid of that awful white streak."

Ginny, in her white high waisted nightdress with her hair piled on her head like a little girl going to her first dance, waited until Marie-Suzanne had left the room. The vigorous raspberry that she blew cut sharply over the groans of the other girls and Harriet's well-bred "Well, really!"

"Did she put flowers in my hair?" Ginny demanded. "She did, didn't she!"

Hermione leaned forward and drew the delicate spray of marguerites and gypsophila from behind Ginny's ear. Ginny snatched them and sat whirling them between her fingers.

"I swear," she said, "I'll do for that woman on of these days. Daisies and dogsbreath, for crying out loud."

"I'll hold your coat," Elizabeth Bennett said wryly.

"And I," announced Harriet Vane, "will help you dispose of the remains. Don't worry dear, there isn't a jury that would convict."

There was a short but highly therapeutic discussion on means of said corpse disposal then they settled down and Hermione brought them all back to business.

"Well, what is wrong with the boys?" she asked. "Bouncing Marie-Suzanne apart, that is. That just sounds like a perfectly normal reaction to me."

"Has anyone else noticed," Ginny asked, staring pointedly at Hermione, "that the fics seem to be getting …milder." The chorus of agreement was broken by Hermione.

"Ummmm….No," she said. "I spend just as much time being tied up and beaten by Professor Snape as I ever did. Why?"

"It was just something that occurred to me," Ginny said eyeing her thoughtfully. "Maybe …well, maybe we should just ask them?"

"The problem is," Lavender pointed out, "that we never get a chance to talk to them – not a proper chance. It's so rarely that we are allowed to fraternise."

"Yes, we need permission before we can invite them up here and we never go down there unattended!" Parvati agreed, mopping her glowing face with a towel. "Not since that business with Eowyn."

Eowyn had eventually been discovered tied up in the wardrobe of the room shared by Rand al Thor, Mat and Perrin and was inclined to assume an insufferable air of superiority if anyone made even the most oblique mention of 'wheels' or 'time'.

"What we need," Hermione said decisively, "is someone who can come and go as they please."

"But we haven't got anyone like that," Parvati pointed out.

"No," said Hermione, "but the boys have…I just wonder how long it will take them to remember."

**

TBC – unless I decide to kill off someone important.

As ever, thanks must be extended to the following authors (or their executors) along with a reassurance that they are mentioned only in a spirit of fun and with sincere affection: Tolkein (LotR and Silmarillion), Dorothy L Sayers (the Wimsey novels), Lois McMasters Bujold (the Vorkosigan saga), Jane Austen (P&P etc), Neil Gaiman (Sandman), Robert Jordan (Wheel of Time), Stan Lee (X-Men) and Terry Pratchett (Discworld). Some TV shows are mentioned but since I have no idea who has the intellectual copyright just take it as read that I'm not making any money out of it, ok? 

I _should_ add JKR to the list so I am but, since OotP chapter 35, I'm doing it without the affection. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Mattress 4 - In Need of Turning

"Any luck?" Remus asked as Harry slumped into a chair across the table. It was evening and they had all had a long and remarkably hard day. Neville, in particular, was worn out by all the unaccustomed attention. He was already dozing with his head on his arms and Sirius reached over to remove Neville's plate before he got his head in the gravy.

"Poor kid," he murmured. "He's just not used to it. After all, what did he do before?"

Draco smiled and reached across to tug Neville's robe straight. "There's that fic with me," he said, his black painted fingertips lingering for a moment on Neville's shoulder. "Funny how a well written fic can change your perception of somebody. And before you ask, Remus, no, I had no luck at all."

"Ron?" Remus asked.

"I tried to talk to Pansy but...why Pansy for pity's sake?"

"There must be a challenge on somewhere. I spent part of the afternoon with Madam Hooch," Remus sighed. "I also had the opportunity to speak to Hermione for a few minutes but she didn't seem that interested either. Harry, how about you."

Harry glanced up from where he was pushing his cous-cous around his plate. "Too busy to talk. The only bright point in my day was watching that troll Marie-Suzanne reappearing over the battlements ...again... and again..."

"And again," Draco joined in with a delighted grin. "That was brilliant!"

They all laughed, waking Neville, who sat up blinking warily until they told him what had happened.

"That's my boy," Sirius grinned at Harry, "or rather James's boy. He'd have been so proud."

"It was my idea," Draco muttered morosely but nobody heard.

"So," Remus put his knife and fork together on his empty plate, and rested his chin on his hands, "how do we get a chance to speak to the ladies? I mean, they never come down here..."

"Not since that business with the Wheel of Time boys," Sirius confirmed. "Poor young Perrin's still walking with a limp and if you want to see Mat or Rand leap like a goosed moose just get one of the riders of Rohan to blow his horn...that Eowyn is a hefty wench. They tied her up in the cupboard out of sheer self defence."

"Well, what're we going to do then?" Harry asked. "Don't we...I mean...aren't there occasions when we are allowed ...?" he nodded towards the sweeping marble staircase.

"Ladies' Night," Remus breathed. "Every so often the married ones decide that they would like their spouses to visit and so the unmarried ones are allowed to invite a few lucky gentlemen up for dinner, drinks and polite conversation."

"When's the next one?" Draco demanded, his bored pose suddenly abandoned.

"We can never tell," Sirius informed him. "There's no rhyme or reason to it."

"We have to find out," Draco said urgently.

"What we need...," Neville began then stopped, blushing, as they all turned to look at him.

"Go on," Remus said encouragingly.

"Well, what we need," Neville continued, "is someone who can come and go as they please. Doesn't Elrond go up there from time to time? To liaise with Nurse Chappell?"

"Elrond? He's management." Sirius' tone left them in no doubt that he might as well have said scum.

"No, not Elrond but I think Neville may have a point," Remus said, thoughtfully. "In fact, I think I know the very man for the job."

Although House loyalties should have been obsolete, it couldn't be denied that there was some comfort to be derived from 'flocking together' - or writhing together in the case of the Slytherins. Snape, Mulciber and Avery had their heads together and Lucius Malfoy was listening to their conversation while keeping a wary eye on Glurrk at the next table. He still hadn't managed to dislodge that sausage and nobody wanted to be on the receiving end when it finally came free. A few places away - in isolation at the end of the table - sat a sad figure, stolidly working his way through a heaping helping of fried rice.

"Hey Blaise," Draco greeted.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Blaise demanded, his fork not breaking its regular rhythm.

"We need you to do a little job for us," Harry said. "It's right up your street."

A few words sufficed to bring Blaise up to speed and he scowled and set his fork down. He folded his massive arms across his massive chest and his beard bristled like a tomcat. "I know what you're going to ask," he said, "and the answer is no! Historically speaking, Blaise is and always has been a male name. Should I have to suffer because people have ignored that fact? I am male. Look, I have a big beard," he spread his arms demonstrating, "I have muscles, I have hair on the backs of my hands, I have big hairy ..."

"Whoa! We believe you...OK." Draco rolled his eyes at Harry as Blaise refastened his robe.

The raised voice attracted the attention of the older Slytherins and Lucius and Snape came to add their encouragement.

"You may well be back up there tomorrow," Snape pointed out. "So you might as well do something useful."

"You expect me to volunteer?" Blaise's voice rose. "You have no idea what they do to me, do you? The pain. The humiliation. The stresses and strains of the constant shift back and forth, up and down..."

"Look," Sirius voice grew gruff with sympathy, "we've all - well almost all - been there, kid. It's tough but it's a job only you can do."

"For Merlin's sake stop the self pity, Zabini," Lucius snapped. "You are in a position to perform an act of benefit to us all. Just get on and do it."

"And when," Blaise demanded, "was the last time you volunteered to have iyour/i bikini line waxed?"

Back at their table they sat in silence for a moment then Harry sighed.

"Me too," Draco agreed. "Back to the drawing board."

Neville looked desolate and Remus patted his shoulder. "It was a great idea, Neville. Thanks. You're a credit to the fandom."

"Of course he is," a new voice chimed in. "You're a clever lad, Longbottom. We've come so far we can't let our 'forward momentum' slow now."

"Eves-dropping again, Miles?" Sirius asked with a grin and Vorkosigan grinned back.

"Got to stay ahead any way you can," he said. "Honestly, you'd think you Potterverse types had never heard of crossfandomcooperation!"

"We haven't," Sirius replied.

"Not surprised, I just made it up. Come on, boys, surely you can think of one other person with our best interests at heart and who .. um .. has a foot in both camps?"

Sirius and Remus swivelled round and stared across the room at the table where a broad-shouldered young individual with waving brown hair was arm-wrestling with Wolverine and apparently winning.

"Are you sure...," Remus began and Miles shrugged.

"I can ask," he said and strolled across the room.

Harry and the other boys watched him go. Generally the characters of the various fandoms tended to keep to themselves, perhaps feeling that better the devil you know. But friendships did form across the divide, like calling to like. For instance, one round table close to the food counter and very close to the lavatory, had been commandeered by the veterans. The First Doctor sat there together with Dumbledore, Loren Silvercloak, Gandalf, Saruman (though the last two kept their distance), Zed and Obi Wan Kenobi, and they drank tea and played a cut throat game of pinochle. Once a month Remus got together with Rupert Giles and Charles Xavier for a 'poetry appreciation society' though it tended to break down into a red wine fuelled moaning session about the plight of the modern teacher. However, at the table that Miles was approaching some of the largest, most testosterone heavy individuals in the factory had congregated and were cheerfully having a knockout arm-wrestling competition that had so far resulted in one broken wrist and a dislocation. Barak was laughing and quaffing his ale one handed while Worf roughly strapped the damaged wrist and Conan had put his shoulder back together by the simple expedient of banging it against Lan the Warder's chest. If the men weren't massive and hairy they were lean and dangerous and the fresh-faced individual that Miles was hailing seemed out of place...until you considered, Harry remembered, that this particular person seemed to be welcome just about everywhere. He looked suspiciously at his godfather who was avoiding his gaze and Remus who smiled reassuringly even though his cheeks were very pink.

The young man listened intently as Miles whispered to him then laughed, slapped Wolverine on the shoulder and stood up. He accompanied Miles back to the HP table, adjusting his long-legged stride to accommodate Miles shorter legs and gave them all a friendly grin.

"Gentlemen," Miles said formally, "may I introduce my good friend Bel Thorne."

"Just a friend, Miles?" Bel said, his lips pursing into the briefest of pouts. Then he smiled a sunny smile. "Besides, some of these gentlemen and I are already acquainted. Hello, Sirius, Remus."

"Hi, Bel," Sirius replied. "Nice to see you looking so - er - fit."

"One does one's best," Bel husked, smoothing his shirt down and Harry's jaw dropped as he realised that there was something extremely odd about Bel's pectoral development.

"So," Bel said, "I understand that you need me to - um - infiltrate the Ladies Quarters, see if we can bring the little dears into line with our current work ethic."

"Work ethic?" Remus asked, startled.

"Yes," Miles smiled a superior smile. "I thought I might as well formalise it. We are currently working to rule - and the rule is "only if I feel like it"."

"Good rule," Remus said. "So, Bel, think you can do it?"

"Do elves shag in the woods?" Bel replied, rolling an amused eye towards the Silmarillion table where the sons of Feanor were playing Monopoly.

"Eerrrm," Harry hesitantly raised a hand. "Just one thing. Won't the guards stop you? I mean, last week when Rincewind's hat wound up on their landing everyone was daring each other to fetch it and no one would and he had to wait until Sibyl brought it down for him the next morning."

"Oh," Bel smiled, "I have certain advantages that none of you boys possess. Want to see?"

"No, thanks, Bel," Sirius hasty denial overbore Harry's interested "OK". "When can you do it?"

Bel Thorne cast a glance up at the large clock that ruled all their lives and sighed. "No time like the present," he said. "I'll just need to make a couple of adjustments first."

Harry stared. It wasn't much more than an alteration in Bel's stance and facial expression but suddenly instead of a rather pretty young man he was being smiled at by a very handsome, if Amazonian, young woman. Bel gave him an exceedingly wicked glance through his - er - her - oh, what the heck - lashes and tied her shirt in a knot in front, baring a few inches of tanned and toned midriff.

"Jeez, Bel," Miles said hurriedly, "tone it down a notch or two."

But it was too late. The Silver Horde may have been shaky in the leg and grey in the muzzle but that only ensured that certain of their other senses worked overtime.

"WOMAN!" Truckle the Uncivil bellowed, as Boy Wullie reached for his crutches and Mad Hamish slowly spun his wheelchair on its axis. The author who had employed them in a notorious fic may have been drummed out of the fandom but that still gave the old guys the right to be there.

"Don't worry," Bel said, setting a hand on one rounded hip, "the poor old dears won't catch me but it cheers them up to think that one day they might."

Harry watched open mouthed as Bel ran the gauntlet of the interested parties between their table and the foot of the Stairway to Heaven. Pursued by wolf-whistles, shouts of "Hello, darlin'" and the accelerating squeak of Mad Hamish's wheelchair, Bel moved smoothly, a swing of the hips or a lithe twist of the shoulder evading patting or clutching hands, and achieved the stair foot. Caleb the Ripper's arthritic fingers just missed grabbing the back of Bel's combats and he let out a groan.

"Sorry, boys," Bel trilled. "Better luck next time," and was gone.

"Ummm," Ron said. "Errrrmm, wasn't he - um - didn't he...?"

"Yes, I thought so too," Draco said thoughtfully and turned to Sirius and Remus.

Harry was already fixing his godfather and his friend with a steady eye. "Would anybody care to explain what just happened? Who was that and what did he do?" he demanded.

"Steady now, young Potter," Miles intervened cheerfully, "and before you start tossing words like 'he' and 'she' about you'll need to understand that with Bel Thorne there's always another option and that's best summed up by the word 'it'."

It reached the top of the stairs with only the barest of interference from the guards - nasty, clammy, chilly things that they were - and walked, humming along the upper gallery towards the large drawing room. Fics were few and far between, its schedule usually fairly sparse. Perhaps the authors were scared, it thought. Or too lazy to attempt describing two sets of everything. It paused on the threshold, ran its fingers through its waves to fluff them up and sauntered into the room. "Hi," it called, "anyone home?"

"Bel, sweetie!" There was a concerted rush for the door and Bel was enveloped in warm arms. Soft lips were pressed to its cheeks and it was tenderly led to a chair and seated.

"Have you eaten?" Hermione demanded.

"Yes, but - oooh, are those profiteroles? Just the one then and easy with the chocolate sauce, I must watch my waistline." Bel beamed around at them all and they beamed back.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Harriet Vane asked. She was far too cool to join the scrum around the visitor but she had set her book aside.

"Just a vague nostalgia for civilised conversation in a place that doesn't smell like a fox's jock-strap," Bel replied, crossing its legs neatly and pointing one foot in as dainty as manner as possible while wearing cleated military footwear. Then its eyes sharpened. "Ginny, dear!" it said, horrified. "What happened to your hair?"

"Marie-Suzanne ," they all chorused and Bel shook its head.

"Honestly! She's a menace. Mmm, this is good," Bel daintily mopped the corner of its mouth with a pristine white napkin then turned a warm hazel-gaze on Harriet Vane. "By the way, Harriet dear, Sir Peter sends his love. He says he's missing you. Oh and I need to speak to Polgara, too. Durnik is pining, poor darling, and the others are teasing him about it."

"That's too bad," Harriet said, rising to her feet. "I'll go and tell her, I'm sure these young ladies will be delighted to entertain you."

"Oh, we will," Lavender said hurriedly.

The door closed behind Harriet's elegant back and, as the latch snicked home, Bel sat up and raised its eyebrows. It uncrossed it legs and straightened up, setting its plate aside, and the temperature in the room went up a degree or two.

"Ooooh, Bel..." Parvati began, moving closer but Bel captured her hand and kissed the back of it.

"One moment, gorgeous," it said, its voice now back to its former low register. "Ladies, have I got news for you?"

"What?" Hermione demanded. "You're the messenger? We were expecting Blaise!"

Bel grinned, leaning back in its chair. "Blaise wouldn't come."

"Never has yet from what we've heard," Lavender said. "Bel, can I...?"

"Lavender, shush," Hermione said severely. "Bel's here to tell us why Nurse Chappell is wandering around with a face like a slapped bottom."

"No, I don't think we should waste time talking, now, should we?" Bel chided, softly. "I won't tell you myself but if you just help me out a little I know a man who can."

"Damn!" Remus watched Bel wearily, but very smugly, climb the stairs on its way to bed.

It was very late and the boys had been sent, protesting, to their rooms. Miles, yawning, had stayed up to take Bel's report and Severus had come to join them as had Sam Vimes and the Librarian. Legolas and Aragorn, too, were in attendance. All eight men (or rather, six men, an elf and an orang-utan) looked glumly at each other.

"It's not the end of the world," Sirius said after a moment or two. "After all, there will be a Ladies Night later this week. They're bound to pick one of us."

"Oook, ook, eek, oook," the Librarian muttered morosely.

"I know, I'm sorry," Sam replied.

"Oook ook ook, eek."

"But it gets in the soup," Sam reminded him. "Legolas offered you a loan of his 'Nair'. Or you could try waxing."

"Eeeek!"

"Rotten timing, though," Aragorn grumbled. "Full moon night." He gave Remus an apologetic glance. "We were counting on you to make our case."

Remus shrugged. "It's a pity," he agreed. "But I'm sure one of you lot will be able to speak for us."

"Well, it's the Star Trek girls turn to pick the lucky fellows," Sam pointed out, "and those high tech types tend not to go for the - um - fantasy heros."

"I don't know about that," Miles said quietly. "Rumour has it that Deanna Troy has the hots for the Mighty Thor." He scowled. "Him and his big hammer!"

"Come on, Miles," Severus said. "Our friends here are depending upon us to do their thinking for them. Don't let me down. Have you any other intelligence?"

"Well..." Miles cocked his head thoughtfully. "Ellie Quinn was chatting to me the other day while we were waiting for make-up..."

"Ship blew up again, did it?" Remus asked.

"Yes, it was a standard 'Stranded on an Asteroid with an Earth Type Atmosphere and Malibu Beach' fic. Anyhow, she said they had been running a book on it and mentioned a few names as likely candidates and, thinking about it, at least half of them are black haired and blue eyed." He grinned at Sirius. "You aren't amongst them - not since that incident with the puff adder and the punchbowl."

Sirius face assumed the air of extreme innocence that Remus and Severus had come to know and distrust. He drew breath to speak but Legolas cut across him. A month before the elf would never have dared to do such a thing but now he smiled coolly and said, "Surely a solution suggests itself? I'm not well acquainted with the people involved but I am assuming that, when the chosen few are collected and led to - er - meet their hostesses, the guards will be withdrawn? Then all we will need is a minor distraction to keep Elrond off balance."

"I'm not sure I follow you," Aragorn said.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas asked himself. "Listen, King of Gondor and I'll put it into words of one syllable."

Astonishingly, the plan was one that might possibly work. Even Severus couldn't see much wrong with it and Miles was positively giggling at the silliness of it.

"But are you sure you're prepared to do this?" Remus asked, remembering the pale-faced, quivering wreck he and Sirius had met outside the bathroom on the day all this business had started.

"Quite sure," Legolas's face had taken on a new line of determination - in fact you could have cracked coconuts on his jaw. "This is our chance," he said through gritted teeth, "our chance to escape this life of sexual slavery. Did nobody ever read Tolkien's back story. Has nobody ever realised that the reason the whole of Middle Earth wasn't hip deep in elves is that we don't actually possess a libido except for once every three hundred years - and even then we're not that fussed. I want my freedom!" He paused, closing his eyes, his face glowing with hope and enthusiasm. "I want to take up macrame."

"Ooo - ook," the Librarian whispered, rotating a finger beside his temple and the others nodded.

"Once every three hundred years?" Sirius whispered to Aragorn who nodded sadly.

"And that's why I'm not likely to be a candidate either," he said. "By my count, Arwen's got another two hundred and forty-three years to go."

"Two hundred and forty-three years," Miles sounded aghast. "No wonder your wrist muscles are so well developed."

Aragorn gave him a ilook/i and, under the table, flexed his fingers. Hand cramp really was a bugger.

"So... a distraction? What shall we do?" Sirius asked. "Another food fight?"

"No," Severus said, scornfully. "You may well enjoy getting covered in custard, Black, but some of us here are adults. If there's a food fight, Elrond will just send Carrot in to deal with it again and keep an eye on the big picture himself. We need something so extreme that all Elrond's attention will be on that."

The silence only lasted until Remus looked up to find all seven pairs of eyes fixed on him. "Me?" he said. "I'm not scary!"

"Oh yes you are," Aragorn told him.

"Under the right circumstances," Severus assured him.

"And so are some of your friends," Sam Vimes added.

Remus thought back to the last time that he and Oz and Quentin Collins had run riot in the refectory and grinned. "Elrond'll go spare, " he said. "I'll do it."

iAuthor's note: All the usual authors have been messed about with here. Bel Thorne, for those who have never met him - er - her - oh dammit IT is from the Vorkosigan cycle, well worth reading. I had completely forgotten that I had loaded Chapter 4 at Fiction Alley but not at . Chapter Five of the Mattress exists partially on the hard drive of my old laptop and notionally in my brain. When my laptop blew up I sort of lost the heart to continue. However maybe now would be a good time to make an end./i


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